Not Alone
by Lauriel01
Summary: Shep whump, pure and simple. :D ...but if it was a choice between hurt and dead... well, if he couldn’t walk, he’d crawl. He wasn’t ready to die.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I started this fic a while ago, so it deviates from canon at the end of Season 2. Thank you to Alipeeps and Gigajules for their patience and help in beta-ing._

Not Alone - Chapter 1

God he was tired. He was also cold, wet, hungry, in shock, in considerable pain, and extremely angry. No, check that. Angry didn't even begin to cover how he felt. Enraged. Several hours ago, his anger had exploded and fuelled a fire inside him that had threatened to engulf him completely. Several hours ago, his mind had burned with the need to kill, maim, stab, shoot, hit or blow up anyone in his way. Now that anger had turned into an icy hatred that left him cold and frozen and deadly calm. But anger alone would not fuel his exhausted and battered body, and it was taking all of his resolve to keep moving forward.

Step, slide. Step, slide. Step, slide.

Brace himself on the gnarled branch he was using as a crutch and step forward; allow his left leg to take all of his weight. Slide the useless right leg behind him in the mud. He wondered whether he still had a kneecap under the muddy, sodden, blood-soaked mess that used to be a field bandage. It sure as hell felt like it had shattered when the damn bullet went through it. But hey, a bullet ripping through your body was no picnic at the best of times, so maybe he'd lucked out and wouldn't be lame for the rest of his life. Maybe not, he thought briefly on the way down, before the agony drove up his leg and into his stomach like a tidal wave, and white hot sparks danced through his vision.

Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't scream.

He let out what he hoped was a small, strangled sob and not a tormented wail of anguish. Fuck! Another strangulated grunt as he curled inward on himself and tried to force his mind away from the pain. He recalled his training. He tried to picture himself cool and calm inside the curl of a wave as its crest towered over him. He'd ride the wave and shoot his board out of that deep blue, into the endless azure of a Californian summer sky. He realised (again) that his training meant jack-shit as he ground his teeth, curled more tightly into a foetal position, and waited grimly for the pain to diminish enough that he could continue on before they caught him again. He slowly unclenched his rigid body as the pain began to recede slightly. Not enough, but if it was a choice between hurt and dead... well, if he couldn't walk, he'd crawl. He wasn't ready to die.

John lay on the bracken-choked ground a few moments longer, feeling the mud ooze beneath his wet clothes. He gathered what was left of his strength - something he was fast running out of; he'd have to find shelter if he wanted to survive until morning. Even then, it wasn't guaranteed. He rolled over onto his left side, trying to keep his wounded leg out of the mire, and reached out into the scrub until his hand found purchase on a slender fern trunk. He took a breath to brace himself, then hauled his body closer toward the plant. His ribs blazed in an appalling hymn of pain; the bastard had cracked them, at the very least, if not broken them outright. His leg joined in what could only be described as a hellish harmony to his ribs and he choked on bile. John remained motionless, panting heavily, then hauled again. This time he had manoeuvred close enough to the trunk of the fern to be able to use it for leverage, heaving himself up onto his good leg with a minimum of pain. He rested for another brief moment, but then forced his protesting body back into action. He had no idea if he was still being followed, and how close they were if he was. He lurched forward - step, slide, step, slide; trying to choose the path of least resistance whilst remaining in enough of the ground-covering bracken to make tracking him more difficult.

He trudged doggedly on, noticing with grim satisfaction as twilight deepened into an inky black night sky. Please God, no moon. If he couldn't see where he was going, those bastards might not be able to see where he had been, either. He suspected there was a flaw in that logic somewhere, but in any event, a concealing darkness beat moonlight hands down. For another twenty minutes or so he dragged himself forward, his leg becoming increasingly more leaden and his mind more numb. Then he went down a second time. This time instead of squelching into a ball of agony in the brackish slush of the forest floor, he felt nothing but surprise as he continued to fall. His surprise was short-lived, and the expected but delayed impact of body hitting ground occurred as he bounced down a rocky incline.

He probably would have screamed if he hadn't passed out first.

oOo

He stepped through the 'gate and looked around quickly, before stepping forward and keying his radio twice, the standard all clear. Ronon and Teyla stepped through with an almost uniform belupp sound, followed a moment later by the dulcet tones of McKay in full rant.

"…portant things to do with my time, my _valuable_ time, than to traipse through mud and talk to primitive… primitives!"

McKay paused for a quick intake of breath, long enough to locate John and step up beside him. "I mean, what is there for me to do here? There's no ancient technology, more precisely there's no technology of any kind."

John was amazed at how McKay made that sound like a crime against humanity.

"Hence there is no reason for me to be stuck in this festering mud puddle until I say the wrong thing to one of these barbaric cavemen and get an arrow somewhere non-conducive to sprouting feathers!" Rodney looked triumphantly at John, looking for all the world like he had made an earth shatteringly irrefutable argument and they would now all kindly dial the gate and go home.

"So don't talk." Ronon said lackadaisically from behind them.

Teyla fought to restrain a smile and John hid his smirk by hurriedly putting on his aviator glasses.

Not that he needed sunglasses. The sky was grey and overcast, the afternoon sun barely warming the air, and Rodney's description of the place as a mud puddle wasn't too far off the mark. There were also small shrubs as well as mud. There were some forest-covered hills abutting the east of the village but 'gateside was dull. John hitched his P-90 tighter on his vest, and silently strolled down the gently sloping mud puddle towards the village, listening to Teyla attempt to justify their journey to Rodney as the three of them followed him.

"They may not be as technologically advanced as we are," she explained, increasing her volume slightly as Rodney 'humphed'. "But they are hunters, and I am sure you have noticed that fresh meat is in short supply at Atlantis. They may be willing to trade with us."

John grinned to himself. The Athosian woman had just landed a low blow on the ever-hungry scientist. One of his favourite mess-hall rants was the lack of fresh meat. They had some, but the Daedalus' small refrigerated storage was more often than not used to store medicines and other more essential items. The Athosians hunted some meat, but not nearly enough to feed the mainland settlement and Atlantis, and so far meat was one of the things they hadn't had much luck in securing in trade. Edible meat, John amended, blanching as he remembered the horrendous M24-935 debacle.

John enjoyed the rare moment of silence, as McKay floundered to find an argument to counter Teyla's. Trade actually looked promising. On their first trip to P32-117 the natives had been hesitant to approach them, but didn't seem to be cowed by the sudden arrival of strangers in their village either. A combination of patience and Teyla's diplomatic abilities resulted in the villagers welcoming them in and hosting them for a feast, and the very bare bones of a trade negotiation being etched with the village headman. Teyla had suggested the headman would feel most comfortable with their return, rather than one of the secondary teams, and John and Elizabeth both concurred. So, while John never fully relaxed off world, he wasn't anticipating any problems on their return to the village.

oOo

He lay in the darkness and slowly returned to consciousness. At first, he felt nothing but confusion. Where was he, and why the hell was he lying on the cold ground? John shifted his head slightly and spat out some dirt, and attempted to roll onto his back when he was abruptly and agonisingly reminded that he had cracked ribs and a gunshot wound to the knee. He unceremoniously face planted the dirt and was enveloped in waves of pain as he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

The second time he came to, he was more alert. He gently manoeuvred himself into a sitting position, leaning against the stone outcropping, and assessed his situation. His face throbbed, and he could only fully open one eye. He felt his right eye tenderly, not surprised to feel the heat radiating off what was undoubtedly a very impressive shiner. His leg was an uncompromising, unrelenting fiery agony, and one look at the blackened disgusting mass attached to it told him it'd be septic if he didn't do something about that field dressing a.s.a.p.

His muscles had stiffened protectively around his ribs, which hurt to high hell. A gentle probe reassured him that they were in fact cracked, not broken. He breathed a shallow sigh of relief. He'd been injured enough times to knowledgably assess the damage and to know that broken ribs meant shards that could cause serious internal injuries. Cracked ribs would hurt like a bastard but would be fine without treatment for the short term.

He did his best to ignore the pain emanating from his ribcage, and leaned over his knee. This was going to hurt like a bitch. He tentatively tugged at the field bandage. Jesus!MaryMotherofGod!Fuck! He barely leaned far enough sideways so as not to coat himself before his stomach contents left via his mouth at high velocity. He sat there shaking for several minutes, before leaning back against the stone and grasping at his side for his canteen. He took a mouthful of water and spat the vile taste out of his mouth, and then took a weary sip of the cool liquid. Okaay. Not one of his brighter ideas. He took another sip of water, and considered his knee. By the time he had replaced his canteen and eaten a few bites of oatmeal powerbar, he'd come to the conclusion that moving was going to be torture enough and the gore soaked dressing could damn well stay where it was.

He took another look at his surroundings. He was in a crevasse, with a rocky outcrop hanging overhead. How he'd managed to fall into the thin gap was beyond him, but the wider base acted nicely as a cave for him to pass the night in relative safety. He doubted anyone would have seen that crack in the darkness.

He looked up again, and noted that the slim sliver of sky he could see was tinted the murky ochre yellow of pre-dawn. So a full night had passed. With the exception of his leg, he felt somewhat better than the previous night, although the icy-cold core of anger had not dissipated. His head had cleared though, and he felt more composed, so the anger just lent a feral, dangerous air to his movements and a cold calculating edge to his thoughts, rather than being consuming as it had been the previous night. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly.

He rifled through his tac vest and checked his equipment status. He had his Beretta 9mm and one spare clip, although he mourned the loss of his P-90. He had a half-depleted first aid field kit, three powerbars and a half-full canteen. He also had his Life Signs Detector, a small survival kit (2 razorblades, 4 Windproof/Waterproof NATO Lifeboat Matches and Striker Strip, 1 "Premium" BCB Wire Survival Saw , 1 Fishing Kit, 20 ft. Brass Snare Wire, 1 Fishing Knot Information sheet (what the hell?) 11 in. Teflon Tube, and 1 Brunton 15MM Button Compass (which was, as McKay pointed out in delight, utterly useless when not on earth)) and his aviator glasses. Oh, and a bum leg. Oh, well, couldn't have it all.

He heard movement outside the crevasse and froze, listening intently as the footsteps moved slowly off into the distance. He breathed a sigh of relief. So, they were still looking for him. A slow, dangerous, humourless smile snaked across his face. He was armed, and barring any more bad luck he had the means to survive for a day or two (in the back of his mind he heard a Rodneyesque 'humph' and moved with haste verging on panic to quash that thought). A day or two should be enough time to head back to the village, find the bastard, and kill him. Any longer than that, and he would probably be captured and dead himself. It was going to be him or Kolya.

He preferred Kolya.

**Disclaimer:** The copyright for Stargate Atlantis belongs to MGM studios and SciFi channel. It's their playground- I'm just playing in it.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N Thanks to Gigajules for the beta! I'd just like to point out that this is not a deathfic. Please feel free to leave feedback and concrit!_

Not Alone - Chapter 2

John led the way into the village centre square and saw the headman and about two dozen villagers waiting to meet them.

"Greetings. We are pleased to return to your village." Teyla said warmly, as they all stepped forward to give the appropriate greeting. It was similar to the Athosian greeting, but stopped short of touching foreheads. John couldn't say why, but he found the difference unsettling. Once the greetings were finished, the crowd of villagers dispersed and went about their business, and Headman Chilik smiled at them.

"Please, come in and refresh yourselves. We have many things to discuss." He stretched out his hand, palm outward towards his house, in invitation to enter. 

John took point again, and led them towards the door. He stepped into the room and found himself facing the wrong end of twenty-odd Genii rifles. It was a combination of the change in his posture, the narrow doorway, and Ronon and Teyla's skill that saved the rest of the team from walking straight into the room. Teyla darted down and to the left, and Ronon darted down and to the right, dragging a very startled physicist with him. John did his best to block the door without getting shot. He managed to cause a brief bottleneck as the Genii grabbed him and dragged him further into the room, three of them pinning him to the ground after relieving him of his guns and knife, while the rest poured out after his team. 

Kolya moved forward from the shadows where he'd previously stood unnoticed, and squatted down in front of John. The Genii holding him to the floor gave him just enough leeway to raise his head slightly and see the man in front of him. 

"Kolya!" John spat the name out like a curse, startling himself with the intensity of it. Kolya grinned back at him. 

"Sheppard." He purred. 

John was sure they were going to have a long and unpleasant chat soon, so he contented himself with demanding "How did you.." His face was shoved back into the floor so hard he bit his lip and couldn't finish.

"Find you?" Kolya asked in a self satisfied voice. John didn't have to see his face to know he was gloating.

"Some of those reward pictures Cowen spread around are still in circulation, it appears. It was pure coincidence that one of my men trades with this village. Headman Chilik will be rewarded well for supplying us with the information. And you, Sheppard," the tone changed to one of unbridled malice. "You will pay for the death of my men. Fifty five men, Colonel. Fifty five men dead. They were robbed of the chance to die like warriors because of your cowardly actions when you raised that shield. I'm afraid you must pay for that."

John tasted the grit on the floor as he tried to respond, but his face was pressed too firmly into the dirt. There was a change of pressure on his head as the goon let go and Kolya grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head up. John found himself staring into hate-filled eyes.

"Did you know, Sheppard, that one of those men was my nephew?" Kolya asked him softly, almost conversationally - except for the bitterness that cut like razorblades. A new definition of screwed flashed through John's mind before his vision exploded into black and red, his hearing rang and pain erupted as Kolya viciously slammed his head back down into the floor. The salty taste of blood filled his mouth and he struggled to keep conscious.

Kolya straightened and went to the window that faced out toward the stargate side of the village. Judging from the direction of the commotion outside, John assumed his team had judged it best to head for the stargate and return with a rescue party. He resigned himself to the prospect of an unpleasant, and probably quite painful, evening and started to think of possible strategies to make Kolya keep him alive and on this planet long enough for his team to return. 

The sounds of struggle outside died down, and Kolya's boots filled John's limited visual range, as the guard once again grabbed his cheek and firmly planted his face against the dirt floor. 

"Excuse me a moment, Colonel." He said. 

John didn't like the sound of that. He didn't sound upset or concerned at all that John's team had gotten away. That meant one of two things. One, Kolya didn't consider it a problem, which John found disconcerting, or two, they didn't escape. John strained his hearing for a clue as to what was going on outside. He heard the distant murmer of voice but wasn't able to ascertain anything, one way or another. 

Then he heard something that he knew would echo down through his nightmares for the rest of his days. Three distinct bullet shots, one after another. From a Beretta 9mm. In the few moments that followed, John heard nothing but his own heartbeat and the strange whirlwind sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. Images rose unbidden of the executions he's witnessed in Afghanistan, only this time it was Rodney he saw crumple to the ground. Ronon's body he saw jerk as the bullet slammed point blank into the back of his skull. Teyla... Oh God. He shut his eyes but the visions didn't go away.

Kolya walked back inside and, in a tone that dripped hatred and malice, said, "Now, Sheppard, we are alone." He drew back his boot and kicked John viciously in the side.

Pain and anger and horror washed over John, and he went berserk. There was no other term for it. He heard a high pitched keening noise, and the small rational part of his mind cowering against the overwhelming rush of adrenaline was appalled to realise that he was making it. The force of Kolya's kick caused one of the Genii holding him to shift his grip slightly and John seized the opportunity before it passed him by. He shifted his weight and jerked his shoulder upwards, throwing the other man off balance and toppling him into the other two. He rolled over and grabbed the closest assailant by the hair and forced the Genii's head down while he bought his knee up in a sharp jab to the man's face, then rolled clear of the melee and scrambled to his feet. John's training came to the fore, but it was powered by grief and insane fury. The three Genii soldiers would have had more luck holding onto frenzied Rattlesnakes. It also would have increased their survival rate. 

John's vision was a haze of red, and he didn't even see the soldiers as people, just as blurry, inconsequential objects between him and Kolya. A blur on his left; he lashed out with a fist and the dark figure fell back choking from a crushed windpipe. The second Genii had taken advantage of John's divided attention and a fist filled John's vision before it snapped his head back and his right cheekbone flared with a leaden, throbbing pain. John roared and launched himself in the direction the blow had come from, his vision swimming as he punched meaty resistance until it stopped moving underneath him. 

He swung around to look for the third Genii soldier. One glance revealed the man either concussed or dead where he had fallen from John's knee to his face, a trickle of blood running from his ear and oozing into the dirt floor.

A sudden movement caught John's attention, and he looked around to see his nemesis. Kolya had stepped back out of harm's way while his three sycophants were dispatched. He'd obviously expected them to be able to control John; the shock of their defeat evident in both his face and the fact that he wasn't armed. Then again, neither was John.

The realisation that John's weapons were discarded in the corner dawned on both men simultaneously. John had only taken a step towards the weapons when a solid weight hit him from behind, and he found himself on the floor beneath Kolya. He brought his elbow up sharply and was rewarded with a gasp as it connected with the heavier man's ribs. They both scrambled to their feet, and John reeled back as he was once again punched in the face. He felt warm blood dripping from his nose, and he drew back a foot and kicked Kolya hard. Kolya doubled over, groaning and going purple as he clutched at his groin. John scooped up his Baretta and booted the other weapons out of Kolya's reach. Kolya made a desperate lunge for the weapon in spite of his pain. They wrestled briefly before John managed to bring the grip of his Beretta down on the back of Kolya's neck, the blow forcing the groggy soldier to his knees. Another Genii soldier appeared in the doorway and gave one startled yell before the Beretta barked and he toppled backward, dead before he hit the ground. John drew back his own boot and in an unconscious parody of Kolya's earlier action and kicked the man in the face; before he finally heard the sane part of his own brain screaming at him to get the hell out of there.

He leapt out the door, dived to the ground and fired at the Genii who had been attracted by the gunfire and were running towards the house. John extended the dive into a roll, came up to his knees and launched himself at the tree line. He cast an involuntary look over his shoulder, searching for a glimpse of his friends bodies, but the area was now out of his line of sight. He faced forwards again, grimly quashing all thoughts of his friends and focused instead on dodging the bullets peppering the dirt around him. He'd just made it past the edge of the trees when one of the bastards nailed him in the knee. He dragged himself towards the thickest area of foliage, and collapsed in the dusk tinted greenery. He listened to the sounds of pursuit; it didn't sound like there were many of them, but they were drawing rapidly closer. John hastily wrapped a field bandage around his knee, trying to ignore the excruciating needles of white-hot pain that shot through him, focusing instead on keeping the blackness of impending unconsciousness at bay. He reached and grasped a stout branch lying nearby, and used it to heave himself back onto his feet. If he could keep moving until nightfall, he might be able to lose them in the darkness.

oOo

Getting out of his grotto was unpleasant, to say the least. The incline he'd rolled down the previous night wasn't too high, but it was steep and he could only use one leg. He slowly clawed his way up, inhaling the earthy scent of the dirt and rock, relying on his upper body strength to pull himself up. This meant he could keep his right leg straight, but had the unfortunate side effect of scrapped fingers and knuckles, and it was hell on his ribs. One badly timed slip meant a fingernail ripped clean off.

He lay at the top of the cleft, shaking and gasping for air. He passionately longed for Carson's infirmary. For a cool, clean bed under him instead of the ever-present clay-scented mud. Carson radiating caring and empathy and solace that John could never admit to being grateful for. And morphine, numbing his pain and his mind and letting him float, letting him forget that his friends… STOP! The anger rose again and he determinedly hauled himself off the ground. He could collapse later. Right now, he had a job to do.

John looked around to get his bearings. The sun was rising to his left, so the village was in the murky mist at his two o'clock. He took a determined step, almost falling over as agony shot up his leg in hot spikes. John doubled over, bracing an arm against his good leg, as the fire in his leg spread to his stomach and caused him to lose the few bites of powerbar he'd managed to choke down earlier. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before straightening and slamming it against a nearby tree in frustration. He had a high threshold for pain, but he still needed to be able to walk without throwing up, dammit.

Spying a sapling nearby, he broke off a limb and deftly stripped it of leaves, then grabbed the remaining bandages from his first aid kit. He carefully wrapped his leg in a makeshift splint, pausing occasionally as the pain roiled his stomach and made his vision swim. It wouldn't lessen the pain, but hopefully it would keep his knee straight and help support his weight. He rested another moment while he dry swallowed the last of the Tylenol from the first aid kit. Another brief wave of despair momentarily overwhelmed him, and he wondered how he was going to fight when he could barely walk. He steadfastly ignored the thought, focusing instead on the many ways to kill Kolya as he broke off another branch to use as a crutch, grit his teeth and slowly limped towards the village.

John's world had reduced to the torturous effort of walking and the even more painful thoughts that circled endlessly through his mind. He couldn't report to Atlantis unless he could reach the 'gate and establish a wormhole, so that gave him approximately seven hours until Atlantis started to look for him. His team were due back at midday local time, add some leeway before Elizabeth got concerned, and then Atlantis would try to contact him. What would he say? How could he tell them that his team, his friends, were dead? That he couldn't keep them safe? That he'd failed them? 

The echo of those three gunshots resonated through his memory, overlaid by the image of Kolya's hate-filled face. Elizabeth would never approve of what he was planning, so he had seven hours to find and kill Kolya. Damn, but he should have killed the motherfucker back on Dagan. Add it to the ever growing list of 'Shep fucked up' memories. Look- this was the one where he crashed his chopper and couldn't save Mitch and Dex! And this was the one where he woke the Wraith! And now- this was the one where he had aimed a gun at the bastard's head and _let him go_! Only to have him kill his three closest friends. And he was so tired of losing friends. He fuelled his anger, letting it surge through him. If he was lucky, his rage would drown out the persistent corner of his mind that told him if he killed Kolya in revenge, it wouldn't be the act of a soldier, it would be murder.

**Disclaimer:** The copyright for Stargate Atlantis belongs to MGM studios and SciFi channel. It's their playground- I'm just playing in it.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: thanks to Gigajules for beta-reading. Thanks to everyone else for just reading!_

Not Alone - Chapter 3

John forced his attention to the here and now as he neared the village. He knew there were Genii moving through the forest searching for him, and he didn't have a hope in hell of out-running them if one of them caught sight of him. Movement became more deliberate, as he pushed the pain and weariness back as his training came to the forefront. Of course, his training for these situations required that he retreat, report to his superiors and come back with reinforcements for his friends bodies, but the hell with that. He inched his way through the undergrowth, treading as carefully and quietly as was possible with a lame leg. John hugged the trees as the dense forest became more sparse and tried to blend in with his environment, straining eyes and ears for anything out of place. He was almost to the village clearing when he heard the unmistakable rustling of someone trying - and failing - to walk quietly through the forest. He awkwardly dropped to the ground and wriggled under the closest bush then pulled his Beretta out of his thigh holster and scanned the trees.

He was still trying to spot the Genii lurking in the scrub when the enemy unaccountably hailed him with a 'psst'. He twisted towards the sound and instinctively fired, an explosion of bark and splinters marking where the bullet hit. A deep voice growled his name and another higher pitched voice called out in quiet panic.

"Wait! Jesus Colonel! What do you think you're doing? Don't shoot at us!"

John gasped, struggling to breathe through the tightness in his chest as shock raced through him like a volt of electricity. The world turned into a kaleidoscope, bending in on itself then expanding back outwards, colours garishly bright. His mind floundered, groping to understand what his senses were telling him. They were dead! But that was McKay's voice. Wasn't it? The side of his face that wasn't swollen scrunched up in surprise and doubt as he called out softly.

"McKay?"

"Well hello! Who else is going to 'psst' you in the middle of this god forsaken, insect ridden cesspool?" The vitriolic whisper cut the air like a knife and John had never been so happy to hear it in his entire life. He slithered out from under his leafy refuge and scrambled to his feet as his team emerged ghost-like from the early morning mist.

John stepped up and grasped Ronon's shoulder before pulling Teyla and a surprised Rodney into a hug, ignoring the flare of pain his ribs gave in protest.

"Thought you were dead." He mumbled. He stepped back, basking in the warmth of discovering his friends were alive and well. He grinned, knowing it was probably one of the dorkiest smiles in his repertoire, but too happy and tired to really care. He was greeted with a stunned silence and the grin on his face slowly faded as he was confronted with three shocked expressions.

"What happened to you?" Rodney asked, his voice raising in pitch as he spoke. Ronon glared at the physicist, as Teyla stepped closer to him and echoed Rodney's sentiment, concern evident in her voice. John looked at his team-mates, and was suddenly aware of his own condition. The pain from his knee, ribs and swollen face reared angrily, and he felt the mud and grime clinging to his skin. He ran his hand through his hair in a pointless effort to remove some of the detritus left from the grotto floor. He was uncomfortably aware of how he must look; muddy, battered and weary, one side of his face swollen and purple, his leg wrapped in a shoddy splint with blood oozing from under a deplorably grotty bandage. He knew he looked awful, and he felt worse, and suddenly his emotions were just too much for him.

"What happened to me?" He hurled the words at Rodney, voice low and intense. He made a sound halfway between a gasp and a snort, choking back tears he was determined not to release. "What happened to me? I was kidnapped, beaten up, shot, and chased. To top it off, I was dead certain up until thirty seconds ago that you three had been executed, so excuse me for not being the poster boy for Aviators Monthly! Where the _hell_ have you guys been?" He spat the words out, furious that he could not put a stopper on his unwanted emotions, that he was on the edge of losing it. Angry at them for being his friends, for making him care when he could lose them so easily. Angry at his pain over losing them; at his fear that he still could.

"What do you mean? We've been dodging Genii and risking our lives to try and rescue you!" Rodney shot back, his voice rising incrementally. Teyla hastily reminded them that a forest containing Genii soldiers was perhaps not the best place to argue, and they both quietened, giving each other glares.

"Colonel, I assure you we have been doing our best to come to your aid. We have had to evade capture ourselves, and were on our way back to rescue you. We were unaware that you had already escaped as we were unable to raise you on your radio." The words were calm, but John heard the undercurrent of worry and frustration. He looked away, feeling almost guilty, as he remembered the crunch of his earpiece being ground into the floor of the house as he was held down.

His thoughts were spinning around too fast, and he couldn't get his head clear enough to make any sense of them.

"But he shot you. I heard…it was a Beretta, I'd know…" And he realised Kolya had done it again. He flushed with chagrin. Of course Kolya had Earth weaponry; they'd seized some of it during the big storm. Anger, shame, hatred and loathing; the feelings surged up in him as he bitterly reflected that this was the second time Kolya had done this to him. John looked at his friends as they watched in confused silence, then he roared and slammed his fist into a tree. Bastard! How did he know? How did the bastard keep finding his blind spot? He could hone in on John's weakness and just press the nerve every time and John had... Had… Enough! His emotions rolled over him; twining and interlocking with the pain and coiling around him, rising through him, choking him until his vision greyed and his hearing dulled and the world spun.

"He's going to..." He heard Ronon's deep voice from far away, and felt strong hands catch him as he fell. Then nothing.

oOo

John lay in the mute silence, while terrifyingly unknown things skittered through the blackness. Danger; a sense of threat pushed down on him, heavy and pressing, leaving him breathless. A feeling of loneliness and loss overtook him, he cried out in the darkness like a child in the grip of a nightmare. The sensation of a warm hand on his forehead pulled him towards wakefulness, and he slowly surfaced into consciousness. Teyla moved her hand from his forehead, running her fingers slowly through his hair before placing it under his neck and lifting his head gently towards the canteen she was holding to his split lips with her other hand. John sipped the cool liquid, relishing the cold relief as it trickled down his throat.

He hurt. Pain was a universal constant that was numbing his mind and overwhelming his sensory system. He briefly wondered if he could pass out again, but the darkness of unconsciousness was cold and uneasy, so he accepted that the agony was unavoidable and tried to look around and force his pain-dimmed awareness to make sense of his surroundings.

"T'la?" he murmured, voice sounding scratchy from a raw throat. Teyla leaned forward, and something cold and damp was pressed against his forehead.

"It is okay, Colonel. You are safe." Teyla's voice was low and soothing, but there was a note of worry underlying the words that belied the comfort being offered.

"Where'm I?" John asked, fighting the haze that clouded his mind. There was a sense of urgency pulling at him. Something he had to do. He couldn't remember, and the pain was making it so hard to think clearly.

"We are in a cave in the forest. Do not worry. Ronon is guarding the entrance, and Atlantis has sent a team through the 'gate. They will be here shortly." John frowned at her words. Atlantis? He couldn't go home yet, he had to kill Kolya first. That's what he had to do! Did she say he was in a cave? Why was it so hot if they were in a cave?

"Can't g'yet, godda kill Kolya firs'. He killed you." He tried to move, but agony came in waves from somewhere and his body was burning and his mind wouldn't work.

"What did he just say?" Rodney's voice was distant; there was a loud buzzing in his ears that was making it hard to hear.

"Shh. Do not move, Colonel. We are all here, and we are all safe. Kolya is long gone."

'He can't be gone, I have to kill him.' He tried to tell her that, but his voice didn't want to work properly.

"Hot." The damp something on his forehead was removed, and replaced with the warm hand again. He tried to lean slightly into the contact, but his face hurt too much.

"You were injured, Colonel, and the wound has become infected. You have a fever. Try to relax, you will be home soon."

'I'm sick?' he thought incredulously. He tried to make sense of the confusing welter of thoughts that rose randomly, seemingly disconnected from each other, through the pain-filled haze. It was too hard to talk, so he didn't try. Just lay back and listened to the voices in the background that were growing less substantial than his own barely coherent thoughts.

"They're here." Someone rumbled.

"Oh thank God! What took them so long?" Someone else said.

There was more, but it was meaningless, and John stopped listening to it. Then they moved him, and he was washed away on the crest of an agonised scream.

**Disclaimer:** The copyright for Stargate Atlantis belongs to MGM studios and SciFi channel. It's their playground- I'm just playing in it.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Here's the final chapter - I hope you enjoy it! Just a reminder that it is AU from the end of season 2. Once again, thank you Gigajules for the beta._

Not Alone - Chapter Four

Pitch black. Weight on his chest. Pain; crushing, debilitating pain, all over. Voices floating in the ether.

"Carson." A soft, feminine voice. An image of a dark haired woman in red with vivid eyes flashed through his mind, but it was gone before he could put a name to it.

The pain grew stronger, giving the blackness grey, kaleidoscopic patterns. He whimpered.

"Colonel, can you hear me?" This one was a mellow, kind voice, vibrating with a brogue that should be familiar to him. "I need you to open your eyes. Can you do that for me, lad?"

He struggled to make sense of the words; they came at him one at a time, scattered like raindrops.

"I need you to hold on for me and open your eyes before I can give you anything else for the pain." Something for the pain. No coherent thought just a longing, a yearning for something to end the crushing pain he felt.

"John, its okay, can you hear us?" The lady in red again. He wanted to do what they said, knew it would ease the pain, knew that he trusted them. He exerted all of his willpower, harnessed all of his strength, and moved his eyelids the necessary quarter-inch. A bright light impaled him, and then he let his eyelids drift closed again. He dwelt there, floating in the pain-filled blackness.

"At least he's responsive now." He heard the lilting voice say, then the pain began to recede and he gratefully fell back into nothingness.

oOo

John opened eyelids that were heavier than they had any right to be. The light was blinding, so he let his eyes shut again, before the mounting pain forced him to open them again. He blinked rapidly as the room blurred, then slowly came into focus. The blurry shape next to his bed snored, and he turned his head and watched as it coalesced into Rodney. The scientist was slouched down in a chair, legs stretched out in front of him and arms crossed protectively across his chest. Someone had placed a blanket over him, which had slipped down and off to the side, so now it only covered his knees and feet.

"Hey" John said, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. Rodney snorted and started upright.

"Oh, hey!" He said, leaning forwards and looking closely at John, before looking up and across the room and nodding at someone. That someone turned out to be Carson, who hurried over to John's bed.

"Well, hello there." Carson smiled as he looked down at John. "How're you feeling?'

"Hurt." John managed. He'd only just woken up and he already felt tired, only the pain stopped him from sinking back into a deep sleep.

"Aye, I imagine you do. You got yourself into a right state, and gave us quite a scare." Carson reached into his pocket and pulled out a penlight, flashing it in John's eyes. John blinked at the assault, trying to figure out how 'I hurt' translated into 'shine a light in my eyes'. Carson stuck a thermometer in John's ear, then put his stethoscope in his ears and John felt the cold dot of metal as it hopped from place to place on his chest. He breathed in, and it hurt. He breathed out, and it hurt. And when Carson put the blood pressure cuff around his arm he wanted to tell him to go to hell and leave him alone, but he was too worn out, so he lay there limply and watched the doctor inflate the cuff until it squeezed his arm.

"What'd I do?" He asked wearily, the thought of an extended stay in the infirmary wasn't high on his list of good times. Carson looked at his bruised, swollen face and sighed.

"How you get yourself banged up like this I'll never know, Colonel." He said. The words were harsh, but they were said in such a sad and gentle tone that John actually apologised.

"Aye, well. You've cracked four of your ribs. You've got a very pretty size thirteen bruise there, too." Carson's eyes turned cold and his lips tightened at this pronouncement. "You've also got some swelling around your orbital cavity that's putting a lot of pressure on your eye. I've got you on some anti-inflammatory and antipyretics to help the swelling go down, but I'll be monitoring it closely. If the swelling doesn't go down within the next day or two, we'll have to look at our options. It seems to be responding to the anti-inflammatory medication so far." Carson paused and stared hard at him, and he saw the care and worry in his face. That was the worst thing about Carson. Everything showed on his face, and he cared so much that it was almost more painful to look in his eyes than be the one injured. John blinked slowly, merely to break the contact.

"You've got a bullet through you're knee, which I'm sure you realise. What you probably don't realise is how bloody lucky you're going to be if you have full mobility in that knee again. It's a bloody mess, I'll not kid you, but fortunately there were no intra-articular fractures, so I expect that you'll gain most of your mobility back. I can't be certain though, not yet. I've debrided the wound and I've got you're knee in traction for a few days, after which I'll have another look at it. The biggest problem was that it got a nasty infection while you were being a damn fool running around on it in the muck with a day old contaminated field bandage! The wound went septic – you damn near died on us!"

John uncomfortably sunk lower into the bed, and let out a croak that could have been anything. Rodney took some pity on him.

"It's not like he had much of a choice, Carson." Carson rounded on him, but merely gave him a speculative look, then nodded, his shoulders sagging.

"Aye. True enough. But if we never run into that Genii madman again, it'll be too soon." John had to agree there, all though if they did run into him again… well, civility be damned. John had every intention of shooting on sight. Carson turned and injected some painkillers into the IV line. "Well, Colonel, I've got you on a cocktail of broad spectrum antibiotics, including the antipyretics for your eye, so we're winning the battle against the infection. Best get some rest, now." He added more gently. He leaned over and checked the cannula, and John absently noted that one of his fingers was also bandaged. He hoped that Teyla, Ronon and Elizabeth would be coming to visit, but the painkillers had kicked in and he was too sleepy to force the thought into words. John slipped back into a deep sleep.

oOo

"Oh man, this is fucked up! Someone screwed the pooch on this one, Sir!" Mitch's voice wavered, and John told himself it was just the crackling of the radio. He was right though. Someone at HQ had made a huge-ass mistake, and instead of flying over small farmsteads nestled in the sun-blasted hills south of Kabul, they found themselves dodging RPGs and SAMs being fired on them from what appeared to be half the fucking Taliban resistance.

"He's right," He said to the man sitting next to him. The Colonel had chosen to replace his co-pilot since he was joining the command that were pushing out of the Khyber Pass towards Kabul. A small group of army grunts had been cut off from the rest of the troops in the pass, and they were to extract them and transport them to the main force in the Pass on route.

"This is suicide!" He banked sharply to the left as he spoke, and watched yet another SAM sail past, so close he could see the markings on the shell. Colonel Accardi turned to him and leaned in, closing the distance in spite of the microphone on his helmet, and waited until John looked at him.

"We don't leave people behind, son. We have troops on the other side of those hills and they're waiting for us to get them out. Now do your job." John felt his neck flush red as the reprimand sank in. It was a motto he lived by, had always felt to be true, to be_ right_, and the Colonel had just implied that he would abandon both his post and his fellow soldiers. He should have agreed – Sir, yes, Sir –and let it slide, but he just couldn't let the man sitting next to him think that lowly of him. He'd requested this post because he respected the Colonel and General Pierce. John had always felt it hard to work under the command of men he didn't – couldn't – respect. It had earned him more than one disciplinary action in his time. He was honest enough to admit that was why, at thirty five years of age, intelligent and a phenomenally skilled pilot, he was still a Major.

"That wasn't my intention, Sir!" He put a strong emphasis on intention, hoping it didn't sound subordinate, but he was too pre-occupied keeping the chopper up in the air to take too much note over semantics. He spun the chopper into an elegant dance around two more SAMs, and pulled hard at the stick to avoid a volley of automatic weapons fire. He glanced over at Dex's chopper, and saw the stocky man pull a similar, if slightly more clumsy, manoeuvre. He looked ahead, and saw the set of valleys and rills they were flying over were nearly at an end, which hopefully meant they would be out of the shitstorm they were currently flying through.

"Head's up, Mitch! Looks like friendly sky ahead. You can let go of Dex's hand now." He looked through his window at the chopper next to him, and gave his friend the universal salute.

"Ha friggin' ha, Shep. You sending your panties home to Mommy to wash?" John grinned and twirled through a last ditch volley of RPG fire, heading for the safety of the foothills ahead. He heard a dull thwump and a horrendous screech of tortured metal, and his radio filled with the sound of Dex's panicked voice.

"Shit, Shep! Colonel, Shep, we're fucking hit! I repeat, we're hit and we're going down. Mitch, can you see… fuck me, shot the damn tail rotor off!" John spun his bird around and saw his friend's spinning out of control towards the ground. He saw Mitch jump clear and held his breath for a heart-stopping moment before the parachute billowed out. Crap! He kept his eye on Dex's Huey as it plummeted towards the Earth's surface. He still hadn't seen a second parachute. He bit his lip and watched, listening to the Colonel call in to HQ, letting them know what had happened. Dex's chopper hit the ground, exploding in a fireball as it took two of the RPG launchers with it. He still hadn't seen a parachute… yes! There it was. He must have missed him jump clear. He started to fly in, dodging the increased fire coming from the ground, impatient for the all-clear.

"Hold on, Major. We're to keep on our original heading." John turned and looked at Colonel Accardi incredulously.

"What happened to 'no-one gets left behind, _Sir_?" he demanded outraged.

"This is a direct order!" The Colonel shouted back. "Given to me by my direct superior! _I_ do not disobey orders, Major." John pulled the chopper up higher, to avoid the worst of the enemy fire, and looked at the Colonel to see if he had correctly understood the full import of the Colonel's words.

"You don't disobey orders, Sir." As much as he respected the man, he'd have to spell it out before John would do this.

"I'm not flying the chopper, son." John nodded slowly.

"No, Sir, you're not." He banked the Huey and dove down towards the wreckage, firing to clear his path and looking for a clear place to land. He saw Mitch run over to the direction Dex had landed. At least one of them was still alive. Jesus, he was in deep! He scanned the surface again, finding an area where he could touch down briefly and get his friends the hell out of there before they were all killed. He was so close, too, when there was a grinding sound behind him, and the air was suddenly too hot to breathe properly. He was thrown forward into his restraints as the blast buffeted him. The controls went dead under him, and the chopper dropped from the sky. He had come in low enough before he was shot down that fortunately there wasn't far to fall, but that didn't mean much when you were in a flaming heap of metal, gas and ammunition. He looked out to see where his friends were. Mitch was running over to Dex. The tall Satedan looked up as Mitch came over to him, then caught him as he jolted forwards as bullets pummelled into his back. Except it wasn't Mitch he caught, it was Rodney.

The helicopter hit the ground with bone jarring impact, and John was catapulted out through the windshield and onto the hard ground. He curled into a ball as debris and dirt rained down on him, barely rolling out of the way as part of a rotor blade came hurtling towards him. He got up and ran to the mangled wreckage, and saw Teyla's dead eyes staring back at him, her body a twisted ruin. He swallowed the rage and the pain, and ran over to his friends, only to find that Ronon had suffered the same fate as Rodney. He looked helplessly at the two bullet-ridden corpses that had been his friends only moments ago. The heat from the wreckage of his plane radiated out and washed over him, reminding him that he was in a hot zone, and he'd better start running now if he wanted to live. He ran towards the hills with tears in his eyes and the smell of death clinging to him.

He was in enemy territory, his friends were dead, and he was all alone.

oOo

John woke, gasping for breath as he shook violently, his ribs on fire. There was a soft touch on his shoulder as he lay in the semi-darkness, breathing heavily.

"Colonel, it is alright, you are safe. John, it is okay." Teyla.

"I'm alright." He whispered softly, more to himself than to her.

"You cried out in your sleep. You are on Atlantis, John, and you are not alone." He drew in a shuddering breath. What the hell had he said during his nightmare? He could still remember it, the sound, the sight, the smell; all of it so real. Painful memories he'd thought he had buried over a year ago. The dream had been so real he may as well have been living it again, but this time he had the added bonus of watching new friends die as well as the old. Six for the price of three.

He didn't truly remember the three days following the crash; wandering through the god-forsaken, heat blasted hills of Kabul, injured and starving, grieving and alone, until he'd stumbled into a British contingent in the Khyber Pass. In his deepest, darkest nightmares he did remember flashes; images and feelings. The same feelings he'd felt in the forest last night. He'd been alone. Alone because he'd failed his friends and they were dead.

He settled back into the soft infirmary pillow, trying to ignore the throbbing pain from his knee and the discomfort of being unable to move around with his leg in traction. The morphine dulled the pain, and he was grateful it wasn't as bad as when he had awoken in the grotto on the planet. The warm hand returned silently to his shoulder, and he was thankful that he wasn't alone in the darkness tonight. The memory rose unbidden of waking up in the cave in the midst of a raging fever, and feeling Teyla's hand on his forehead, anchoring him. She'd been there too, they all had. They'd come for him, when he'd thought they were dead. He'd given up on them with no proof that they were dead, because his fear of failing them was so great that rational thought had left him. John started shaking, unable to control it. He'd left them behind. Not in body, but he'd left them for dead and had been so intent on revenge that it hadn't even occurred to him that Kolya might be lying.

"John?" Teyla looked at him, a worried frown on her face, but he couldn't stop the tremors that were increasing in violence, shaking his body as the suppressed emotions wracked his weakened body.

"Carson!" John saw the doctor come over, and he realised another truth. He cast his mind back over every time he'd woken up since he collapsed from the fever in the forest. They were there. Teyla. Ronon. Elizabeth. Carson. Even Rodney. Every time he woke up, one of them was there with him. Every time he fell asleep one of them would stay behind and settle into the chair that was always beside the bed and wait with him and watch over him. Carson injected a sedative, and Teyla stroked his hand while it took effect, but he barely noticed as he remembered all the other times he had been in the infirmary. Yes. There they were. All the time.

As the sedative took effect and John was slowly drawn into sleep, he realised that he knew he would do anything to protect these people, to not fail his friends. He'd known that for some time now. What he hadn't known before now, what truly shocked him to the core of his being, was the realisation that they would do the same for him. He wasn't alone.

_-fin_

**Disclaimer:** The copyright for Stargate Atlantis belongs to MGM studios and SciFi channel. It's their playground- I'm just playing in it.


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